


Do The Dirty

by fuzipenguin



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Other, Priest Kink, Priest Optimus Prime, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:27:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28204590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzipenguin/pseuds/fuzipenguin
Summary: Optimus has never been tempted... until Jazz.
Relationships: Jazz/Optimus Prime
Comments: 22
Kudos: 75





	Do The Dirty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ros3bud009](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ros3bud009/gifts).



> written in fill of a surgery donation prompt for Jazz/Optimus. Twitter stalking revealed that Rosey was dying for some priest porn and this concept came forth

“Bless me, Prime, for I ‘ave sinned. It’s been three days since my last confession, and I’ve committed many wrongs.”

Optimus glances at the thin mesh separating him from his parishioner. He doesn’t have to look to identify the speaker; Jazz’s pitch and tone is unmistakable.

“List them, dear one, so that I may assist you in absolution,” Optimus intones.

“I lied to an Enforcer about why I was speedin’ – told him a family member was admitted to the hospital on emergency services. I broke into my neighbor’s apartment and stole his new wax – not only did I covet it, but it made me laugh to listen to him accusin’ his oblivious mate of usin’ it. And every night, I have lustful thoughts and self-service to vile fantasies.”

“I see…”

“Do ya wanna to know what fantasies I have?” Jazz asks, his voice lowering. Optimus finds himself leaning closer to the booth’s mesh grill to better hear. Then he guiltily jerks back.

“… that… that’s not necessary,” Optimus replies, staring at his hands. His fingers clench down tight around the Bible tome and he restlessly shifts in place, wishing he were any place but here.

“Oh, but I think it’s important to speak aloud. From my mouth to Primus’ audials, right?”

“Primus knows what’s inside your spark, child,” Optimus says, silently begging that Jazz leaves it there.

“Yeah, but you don’t. And ya should probably know about how I take my spike in hand and stroke it while thinkin’ about yer body. Yer broad shoulders, yer clear windshield… frag… those smokestacks…”

“Are those all the sins you wish to announce?” Optimus asks, desperately breaking into Jazz’s monologue.

“Yeah… guess those are plenty. Whatcha want me to do, Prime? Say a few Our Creators?” Jazz replies, his voice husky.

“Yes. Five. And for additional penance, I want you to abstain from self-service for the next week,” Optimus instructs. He hears a small gasp.

“Wow. Ok, yeah, I can do that. Thanks, Prime.”

“You’re welcome, dear one. Go in peace.”

\--

Optimus listens to four more confessions before his time in the booth is up. He exits and slowly makes his way to the sanctuary. As he walks, he is stopped several times by parishioners who greet him and exchange pleasantries. He’s long been able to hide any potential inner turmoil, so none become alarmed as he converses with them despite the way it feels as if his spark is writhing in agony.

When the last congregation member in line says their farewell, Optimus reflexively scans the nave in case there is a shyer parishioner who needs more encouragement to come forward. He sees none.

Well.

None who are shy.

Jazz is sitting in the middle of the back-left pew. He’s leaned forward, arms draped over the pew back in front of him and he does nothing to hide the way his optics are fixed on Optimus. There is no shame in the slouch of his shoulders or the way he licks his lips as his gaze slowly travels down Optimus’ frame and back up. Despite wearing his two-layers thick ceremonial robes, Optimus still feels exposed.

He smiles at Jazz, a quick uptick of his lips that invites nothing, and then turns to flee. His stride is unhurried but the plating on his back burns as if the desire in Jazz’s gaze is palpable.

It’s only when the door between the sanctuary and office hallway is closed does he relax out of his carefully constructed front. Optimus collapses against the door and slips a hand through the slit in the ride side of the robes. Spreading his thighs, he presses his fingers against their warmed apex.

His valve throbs angrily, the extra pressure relieving the ache only for a moment. Biting his lip, Optimus lets his helm fall backwards. It thunks against the heavy door and he makes a small noise, one that is a mix of despair and frustration. Silently, he recites an Our Creator and when the lust doesn’t subside, he does it again and keeps on doing it, beseeching his God to rid him of this desire.

Jazz is… and always has been… so tempting. They’d known each other since they were sparklings growing up in the same apartment building. A little younger than Jazz, Optimus had idolized him from their first meeting. Jazz had always been friendly, but as he had gotten older, he had started running with one of the street gangs in their neighborhood. Still friendly, Jazz gained a hard edge and a dangerous glint to his smile which had always made Optimus’s lines hot if that visored gaze were ever directed his way.

Nothing had ever happened between them although Jazz’s glances towards him turned more and more appreciative once Optimus gained his adult frame. But then Jazz had been arrested for a robbery and Optimus had entered a theology program at the local university. His devotion to his studies and Primus had taken up his time and his attention, and by the second year, he had stopped wondering about Jazz.

Optimus finished his undergraduate theology program and entered training for his Primacy. After taking his vows, he had traveled quite a bit, ministering, and educating poorer communities without churches and schools. His Carrier’s ill health had brought him back to his home city-state where the large Central Church had welcomed him with open arms. Besides himself, there were twelve other Primes here and they kept themselves quite busy with community outreach on top of regular masses and teaching at the youngling school associated with their Church.

Despite being back in a familiar location, Optimus had only vaguely once wondered what had become of Jazz. So, it had been quite the shock to come face to face with him at Optimus’ Carrier’s funeral. They had literally bumped into one another, Optimus turning to leave the crematory observation chamber and nearly running Jazz over.

It had warmed his spark to see Jazz pay his respects, especially to someone who hadn’t been close family. But before they had parted ways as young adults, Optimus had known that Jazz was thoughtful, no matter what crowd he ran with.

They had exchanged pleasantries and Optimus had departed, thinking that would be the end of that. But then Jazz had turned up at one of his services.

And then at the next one.

And the one after that.

Jazz has yet to miss one of his sermons and after only a few months, Jazz started coming to confession. It had been obvious that it was something new for the mech because he had stumbled through his list of sins and needed explanations on how to complete assigned penances. He had been shy at first, hesitant, and Optimus had been both proud of Jazz and oddly charmed.

Optimus doesn’t know how things changed. Had he become too friendly? Had he said something or done something to suggest that he would be receptive to advances? Because while he privately acknowledged that Jazz was handsome, with a lithe frame and beautiful colors, Optimus had taken a vow of celibacy, just like the rest of the Primes.

It didn’t matter that he sometimes wondered what it would be like to kiss Jazz, to hear him moan. His vows were absolute.

Maybe Jazz didn’t know about the celibacy. Maybe like the confession and the penances, it was something he just didn’t have the knowledge of.

Yanking his hand out of his robes, Optimus forced himself to stand straight. He ignored the throb in his interface array and resolutely made his way down the hallway to the administration building where his office was located.

The next time he saw Jazz, he would take him aside and explain. Then hopefully this deliberate provocation would cease and perhaps Jazz would find an even deeper connection to Primus in the process.

Yes, that was the plan.

\--

The plan was backfiring, utterly and completely.

Optimus thought his first mistake had been inviting Jazz to his office. Privacy seemed appropriate for this sort of conversation, but apparently, Jazz had assumed a different motive on Optimus’ part.

Once Optimus had sat in his desk chair, Jazz promptly stopping prowling around the outskirts of the office and come over to plop down onto his lap.

“Finally!” Jazz exclaims. “I’ve been waitin’ weeks for this!”

He leans forward and only a quick jerk of Optimus’ head prevents Jazz’s mouth from meeting Optimus’. Jazz’s lips find his cheek instead and he stills for a moment before pressing closer, nuzzling at Optimus’ jaw.

“Playin’ hard to get, huh? I like it.”

“Jazz… Jazz, I fear you have the wrong impression of why I asked you here,” Optimus says. He wants to push Jazz away but fears the interpretation of his hands on the delightfully warm frame subtly vibrating atop his thighs.

And maybe he also doesn’t want to risk his own hands betraying him.

“Yeah? Enlighten me, darlin’.”

“I wanted to… I want… oh dear…”

Jazz’s thighs spread further and his pelvis rocks, the surge of his body grinding his array against Optimus’ lower abdomen. His lips spread heat as he kisses his way down Optimus’ throat, fingers clenched tight in the cloth at his shoulders.

“Want do ya want, baby? Let ole Jazz take care of ya,” Jazz murmurs.

Optimus shudders because Jazz’s voice is sultry and promises so much. Before entering his training, he had had a few interfaces, but afterwards he had determined that he wasn’t impressed with the act. He had thought that in taking a vow of celibacy, he wouldn’t be missing out on much.

Jazz made him wonder if he had been mistaken.

“Primus, but ya grew up so _hot_ ,” Jazz says, nipping at the large energon line in Optimus’ neck. “Ya had the sweetest face as a toddler, and you were so adorably gangly as a youngin’ and now here ya are… tall and broad and sexy as all get out. I want ya so bad…”

Jazz’s hand travels down Optimus’ chest, fingers dancing flirtatiously as they move closer to his abdomen. Optimus quickly grasps Jazz’s wrist, making the other mech gasp.

“Oh, yer strong,” Jazz comments, lightly tugging at the grip. He leans back and leers at Optimus. “Even better. I like it when someone can lift me up while fraggin’.”

“We can’t!” Optimus blurts out and Jazz’s smirk fades a little.

“What… ya mean here? Oh, I get it; we can go to my place. It’s not much, but the bed is wide and comfy.”

Optimus shakes his head. “No, I mean… I took a vow of celibacy. I can’t interface.”

Jazz goes frighteningly still for a long moment. Then his head slowly tilts to the side just a little. “… celibacy?”

“It means that I abstain from marriage and sexual activity,” Optimus explains.

Jazz waves his other hand through the air. “I know what it means. I just… do ya even self-service?”

“No.”

Although lately, he had been tempted more than he had ever been.

Jazz leans back even further, the shade of his visor paling to a soft blue. “… and ya _choose_ to do that? Or not do that, as the case may be.”

“Yes. It’s a sign of devotion to Primus.”

“So ya weren’t givin’ me ‘come hither’ looks for the past few months?” Jazz asks dubiously. “All those smiles, pattin’ me on the shoulder… callin’ me ‘dear one’?”

“I…” Optimus ducks his head, studying Jazz’s chin. “I apologize if I led you to believe that I wanted something more than the relationship of a Prime and his parishioner. I… because of our history together, I may have been more friendly than with most of my congregation, but I don’t believe I did anything unseemly.”

Although now Optimus wonders. He calls other parishioners ‘dear one’ in the confession booth because they _are_ dear to him, especially in that moment of vulnerability. But yes, perhaps he has been more tactile and freer with his smiles for Jazz in comparison to others.

“Prime… _Optimus_ … are ya attracted to me?” Jazz asks softly. He pulls again, and Optimus releases his wrist, only for Jazz to bring his hand up and cup Optimus’ cheek. It is a chaste touch and Optimus leans into it just a little.

“I… yes. Yes, I am, Primus help me.”

Jazz’s hand drops and a little bit of tension drains out of him. “Well, at least there’s that; thought I was losin’ my touch. Ok, then, how ‘bout this… we do the dirty and then ya just tell Primus ya oopsed, yer sorry, and all is forgiven?”

Optimus smiles wryly. “It doesn’t work like that, Jazz.”

Jazz’s hand slowly slides down the side of Optimus’ face, his fingertips trailing along his jaw until they settle over his throat. He leans forward again, placing a kiss on Optimus’s chin and then he ever so carefully straightens up until his mouth hovers a scant centimeter above Optimus’ suddenly trembling lips.

“Ya sure about that?”

All of Optimus’ knowledge of his own religion abruptly leaves him. He feels his hands settle on Jazz’s hips and the other mech’s plating is so smooth beneath Optimus’ stroking thumbs. “… I… I think so…”

“So… sounds more like, ya won’t know unless ya try,” Jazz murmurs. His mouth drifts slightly closer and each word is whispered against the delicate metalmesh of Optimus’ lips. It would only take the tiniest movement to press them against Jazz’s, to accept the promise that that sinful mouth suggests.

“… Jazz?” 

Jazz ex-vents shakily, the warm gust of air caressing the lower half of Optimus’ face. “Yeah, baby? Say what ya need; I’ll do whatever ya tell me.”

Optimus imagines it. Imagines releasing his scorching hot array cover so that Jazz could lift his robes to find his spike. To touch it, suckle it, sink down onto it, and take Optimus into his body. Imagines Jazz’s more slender fingers in Optimus’ valve, imagines a throbbing spike taking their place and Optimus folding over his own desk and calling out to Primus in pleasure.

In that moment, with Jazz pressed tight against him, he can picture every single act in startling clarity.

“… please leave.”

Jazz doesn’t move for a moment and then he turns his head, pressing his lips to Optimus’ cheek. After pushing himself to his feet, he stares down at Optimus, looking regretful. The left corner of his mouth quirks up and he shuffles to the side.

“I admire a mech with devotion,” Jazz says quietly. “Makes me want a little of it for myself.”

Jazz turns and leaves, the door closing behind him with barely a sound. As soon as it does, Optimus rips his robes up, fumbling the cloth aside as his panel retracts. It only takes two strokes of his hand before tranfluid spatters across his belly. Some droplets land on the edge of his desk and Optimus stares at them numbly, guilt quickly eating away at the dazedness.

Guess he’ll see if it ‘works like that’, after all.

~ End

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
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